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The strong, fruity scent wafts into his nose as he presses it close. His eyes drift shut as he takes it in, swallowing thickly at the aroma. His eyes drift back open as he hears the door begin to open. A man, presumably Cairo, peeks his head in, his short curls meeting Spade’s eyes before the rest of him.
Spade can’t stop the way his eyes fly open as the rest of Cairo enters, and his hands subconsciously lower as Cairo enters, turning to quietly shut the door behind him. He takes the chance while Cairo is turned to rake his eyes down his nimble form, taking in as much as he can to memory before he forces his eyes back up as he turns around again.
He shifts in his seat, letting his eyes fall back to his apathetic norm, eyebrow raising in faux indifference as Cairo makes his way over. Spade hardly recognizes the words coming from his mouth, barely resisting the urge to drift off into his mind as Cairo’s melodic voice floats into his ears.
It’s easy, Spade decides, as he watches Cairo thumb through his wallet, to get lost in Cairo. If he’s not careful it won’t be the falcon his focus is on for the rest of his investigation.
The sharp ring of the telephone startles his thoughts, hand instinctively coming to raise it to his ear, only sparing a glance at Cairo as he answers. He’s intensely aware of Cairo’s gaze on him, burning holes into him, and it takes everything in him to not turn and return the gaze with his own fire.
He hangs up on his secretary, turning back only to find the barrel of a gun pointing at him from Cairo’s lean hand. He blinks, slow, still unscrambling his thoughts as Cairo nears him.
“Your hands behind your neck, please, Mr. Spade,” his accented voice flows through the room once more, now coated in a darkness Spade refuses to admit sends a thrill through him. He raises his hands, forcing them to still from the slight shake he’d gained, (Since when did he get scared? He wonders, but he knows very well that it’s not fear.) pressing them against the nape of his neck as Cairo tilts his head and moves around him.
“Center of the room. I’m going to search your offices,” Cairo commands once more, guiding him away from his desk. Spade swallows thickly, quickly conjuring up another cocky grin to hide his decomposing thoughts.
He carefully watches the way Cairo’s eyes glint in the dim lighting, the way his lips quirk up ever-so-slightly when he issues a command. Spade fights off relishing in the sight, fights off the way he’s all too quick, almost eager, to respond to Cairo’s demands.
But he has an image to uphold. A rough, tousled P.I. who doesn’t let anyone control him. So he rushes forward, gripping Cairo’s wrist and forcing the gun away, slotting his body against his in the process of holding him from moving.
He’s close. Too close.
He can see the way his lips are turning down in surprise, the softness of them appealing in a way Spade has to almost dig his nails into Cairo’s wrist to resist from dipping his head forward. Cairo’s eyes are trained on Spade, wincing as he feels his grip tighten, flicking from eye to eye. His breathing turns labored as he realizes his predicament.
Cairo’s body is warm. There’s a shake in his form, a barely restrained fear. Spade can see a flush lighting up Cairo’s cheeks as he grows distressed, and a soft grunt leaves his lips as the grip on his wrist further tightens. The sound sends a shock through Spade, and he bites hard enough on the inside of his cheek to draw blood, banishing the impure flashes of want in his mind.
The cold metal of the gun in his other hand reminds Spade of the predicament at hand. Even still, Spade has to hold his eyes from falling back onto Cairo’s lips once more. More than once is too many. Cairo is weak, easily overpowered, but no fool. He’s smart. And as Spade knows, manipulative.
And so instead of tilting his head and leaning forward to allow his desire, to quell the smoldering burning within him, Spade forces another malicious smile. He swings his fist before he can regret it, striking him across the face. As Cairo falls and blood spills from his mouth, Spade ignores the stab of guilt inside him.
Cairo falls onto the chair, eyes closed and body limp, passed out from the force of the strike. Spade has to search his belongings, has to find out more about him before he’s able to harm him further. But, if he took a moment or so to regain his composure, to quell the throbbing guilt in his stomach before searching his bag, no one would know.